


Wide Like Cherry Pies

by Schwoozie



Series: And Baby Makes Four [6]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Blow Jobs, Couch Sex, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Multi, Polyamory, Seduction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-15 12:07:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4606164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwoozie/pseuds/Schwoozie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's four months into the trio's relationship, and Beth sees how much it bothers Rick when people assume that she is his daughter. With Daryl's help, she embarks on a mission to show Rick that it's ok to be her daddy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably going to end up being two chapters. It serves as a prequel of sorts to "Drink Me Down."
> 
> The first chapter is mainly Daryl/Beth.
> 
> Enjoy ;)

> _I got a taste for men who're older_   
>  _It's always been_   
>  _So it's no surprise. - Lana Del Rey_

Rick's waiting while Beth gets a haircut when the assistant reaches for him with a friendly hand.

“You want some water while you wait for your daughter to finish?”

Beth isn't paying much attention at this point—she's in the middle of telling the stylist what she wants, and Rick's muttered reply doesn't even register. Honestly, she expected this to happen a long time ago; she's been dating Daryl and Rick for almost four months now, and while they take care not to be out and about together too often (Senoia—and her daddy—ain't that far away), they've been doing it more and more.

A young woman who looks barely past puberty wandering around with a much older man—what are people supposed to think?

They can think whatever they want, Beth would say, as long as it doesn't get back to her daddy. And maybe it's a product of having a father much older than both of them, but the prospect of being mistaken for Rick or Daryl's daughter has never bothered her. They're just words, after all, and assumptions; the three of them have each other, and that's all there is to it.

It isn't until they're in the car back to Rick and Daryl's apartment that she begins to suspect that something is wrong.

“I dunno, maybe I should have gone for bangs,” Beth says, turning this way and that as she scrutinizes herself in the visor mirror. “I haven't had them since I was little, and they'd make me look younger, but it might be a nice change—people'd _really_ think I was your daughter then—“

“Then it's a good thing you didn't do it,” Rick mutters.

Beth pauses at that. She turns to Rick, furrowing her brow.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” Rick says, in a voice she supposes is aiming for unconcerned. “Didn't say anything.”

“O...kay.” Beth continues to frown at him, taking in his tensed shoulders, his white-knuckled grip on the wheel. Something is definitely wrong. “Rick, are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Never been better.

His eyes are glued to the road like he's driving through a rainstorm, not a clear Georgia day. His head is tilted away from Beth, as if he doesn't want to risk even a glance at her.

That stings.

“If this is about what that woman said—“

“I told you nothing’s wrong, will you let it go already?”

Silence rings in the car as Beth stares at Rick. He’s never been so dismissive of her, so distant.

He glances at her, then looks back to the road, stretching his neck.

“Ought to get your Midol before we head back,” he says.

Beth nods slowly.

“Ok,” she says. “Ok, Rick.”

She waits in the car while he gets the Midol. They don't speak the entire ride home.

* * *

Even though Beth doesn't stay over very often, Rick doesn't tell her when he goes to bed; she comes out of the bathroom and finds him gone, the bedroom door closed and the light beneath the door determinedly off.

Beth stares at that stubborn little strip for several long minutes before going to the kitchen for a tub of ice cream.

Luckily for her stomach, Daryl comes home before she finishes the carton, shaking himself off like a dog when he steps through the door. She watches him quietly from the couch, ice cream clutched in her lap as she waits for him to notice her.

As she expects, it doesn't take long; he's barely toed out of his boots before he freezes, eyes leaping to her like a wolf's to a rabbit. She shivers just like a rabbit would beneath his gaze, aggressive and piercing; and then the change comes over him. His shoulders drop. His arms relax. A hint of a smile lights up his taciturn face.

He looks so genuinely happy to see her that Beth starts crying.

She turns away from Daryl the instant she feels the tears leap to her eyes, instinct telling her to hide it from him, to not be a bother—but she knows there's no way for him to miss it. She sniffs in loudly and squeezes her eyes shut and ducks her head between her drawn up knees; when she sees the tears dripping into the ice cream still between her legs, she cries harder.

It's a full minute until she feels a tugging on the ice cream tub; she lifts her leg to allow him to pull it away, then curls further into herself, biting her lip and trying to stifle the whimpers and gasps bursting from her throat. It doesn't work, and even if it did, she doubts Daryl would be fooled; she can sense him standing by the couch, hovering over her, silently begging her to tell him what to do.

She's shocked, then, when she feels his body dip into the couch and his hand settle on her back; she stops breathing as he awkwardly pets her spine, giving her a few hesitant pats before resting against her again. It isn't the kind of comfort she's used to but it touches her all the same—and when she begins to cry again she pushes against the hand until he takes the hint and gathers her back, pulling her body closer to himself so he can fold his arms awkwardly around her stomach.

He doesn’t move, hardly seems to breathe, as she calms herself down—dragging shaky breaths in and letting them out, using her thighs to keep Daryl's arms anchored around her. Somewhere in the middle of it he starts pressing closed-mouth kisses to her back and shoulder and it's so sweet that she has to start the process of calming herself down all over again.

At long last her sobs fade into hiccupping gasps and she lets herself collapse against him, legs falling to the side as she wraps her arms around one of his, clutching his bicep like a teddy bear. He doesn't seem to mind; he's relaxed too as he's held her, and for all his body is solid as a rock he feels soft behind her.

His fingers begin to feather through her hair and Beth sniffs again, closing her eyes against his arm.

“You ok?” he asks in a rumble, so deep and close she imagines she hears it through her body and not her ears. The hand attached to the arm she holds is wrapped securely around her hip; the other is still in her hair, working around the ponytail to touch her scalp. Beth reaches up and tugs the band from her hair, letting it fall loose around her shoulders, before snuggling into him again. She feels him smile against her as he resumes the petting.

This continues for several minutes before he bumps her head with his nose. “You gonna tell me or what, Greene?”

Beth sighs, closing her eyes. “It's nothing,” she says. “I’m PMSing. It’s silly.”

Daryl doesn't respond; just resumes his soft touching. She remembers the first time she cried in front of him. It was the first time she met him, too; she'd been having nightmares about her apartment being broken into again, watching the man going through her things, hurting her like he hadn't gotten the chance to last time. She walked a mile through the dark in the rain to come to Officer Grimes's address. She knocked on the door already in tears, and even a strange man telling her Rick was gone for the night wasn't enough to stop them.

Daryl hadn't touched her, then; but he brought her inside and sat at one corner of the couch while she took the other, wrapped in a throw and sniffling while he clicked through the channels. He stopped on the last thing she expected him to—some old McConaughey romance—but it helped; and before long she was bursting with watery laughter as Daryl critiqued the film, grumbling it to himself, but still loud enough for her to hear. He told her later, once the three of them were together, that he had no idea what he was doing that night; that he wishes he could have been more comforting, made her feel better than he did.

She told him what hogwash that was, of course; that he gave her exactly what she needed without her even having to ask; and she spent the next few hours after that making sure he felt better too.

She can tell he still isn't entirely comfortable when she cries; even when she's fine, cuddling remains somewhat of a mystery to him. But he's getting better; he holds her and strokes her hair and she kisses his arm in gratitude.

“Don't seem like nothing,” he says after a while, trailing a finger down the wisp of hair in front of her ear. “Why ain't you in bed with Rick?”

She knows he feels her tense, for he pauses in his ministrations before continuing on.

“Y'all fight or something?”

“Not exactly,” Beth mumbles. “He got short with me in the car, and went to bed without telling me.” Beth can feel Daryl tensing in anger behind her, and she knows that were she not sat practically in his lap, he would be off the couch and confronting Rick before she finishes speaking. It makes her flush a little, to know he'd go to bat for her against his best friend and lover. “I told you, it's silly that I'm crying,” she says, trying to placate him. “It’s just hormones.”

“Why the fuck'd he treat you like that?”

Beth is quiet, wondering how to approach this. Of the two men, Daryl is far more sensitive, especially when it comes to their relationship; he still talks as if her wanting to be with him is a short-term thing, that eventually she'll tire of him and gravitate back to Rick. She's told him over and over again how silly that is—that she started dating both of them together and she'll _keep_ dating both of them together, no matter how it might look to anyone who finds out. That's something, of course, that both men are fearful of; Daryl is just worse at putting away his feelings over it.

So Beth needs to tread lightly. Not as easy as it sounds, as emotionally exhausted as her tears—and the day—have left her. But she has to try.

“Does it bother you,” she manages finally, “that you're old enough to be my father?”

Daryl doesn't respond for a long time, and eventually Beth grows worried enough to pull back, turning around so she can see his face. She reads his expression, and is surprised—for instead of the anger or fear she expects, she finds... perplexity. Like it's something he's never considered before.

“Well?” she prompts.

He looks at her, chewing on his lip. “Iunno,” he says. “I mean, I _ain't_ your dad. So—no. Don't bother me much.”

Beth stares at him. “You really don't care about the age difference at _all_?”

Daryl shrugs. “I mean, I've thought about it.” A wry smile tugs at his mouth, and he reaches up to pull on a lock of her hair. “Ain't the biggest reason we shouldn't be together, anyway.”

Beth rolls her eyes at his last statement. “Stop that.”

“That what happened with Rick?” Daryl asks, ignoring her. “Someone thought you were his kid?”

Beth settles back against the couch with a sigh. “Yeah,” she says. “I could tell he was pissed off, but when I tried to talk about it he pretended nothing was wrong.” She pauses, looking at her hands. “I don't know what to do,” she says eventually. “It isn't like I can show him my relationship with my _real_ dad, so he knows we aren't anything like that. And the age thing is a big part of why.” Beth sighs again, pouting. “This sucks. I was so excited to spend the weekend with you guys, and this messed it all up.”

“Ain't messed up. It's only Friday, anyway.”

Beth feels her mood lighten at his attempt at humor. She raises her eyebrows, leaning closer to Daryl. “Is that optimism I hear in your voice, Mr. Dixon?”

Daryl smirks, winding another lock of her hair around his fingers. “Dunno,” he says. “You want it to be?”

“I wouldn't mind,” Beth whispers, closing her eyes as Daryl brings his lips to hers.

As usual, it's hard to maintain a bad mood while Daryl is kissing her, and she sighs as he licks the salt from her lips before stroking his tongue inside her mouth. Kissing is another thing Daryl's gotten better at since she met him—the benefit of having two teachers on hand, she supposes.

He puts those new skills to use now, spreading the hand in her hair across her scalp to pull her closer, continuing until she's draped across him as he reclines against the arm of the couch. His feet are still on the ground as his torso twists, and she takes a moment to squeeze his obliques before settling her hand over the thickening bulge in his pants.

Daryl's breath releases into her mouth as she strokes him, following the line of his dick with the flat of her fingers until he's close to whimpering. She takes advantage of his distraction to slide her own tongue past his and into his mouth, moaning softly at his taste.

“Beth,” Daryl gasps, “Please–“

“Show me,” Beth murmurs, lightening her touch until she's barely scratching at the fabric, drawing her nails up and down his cock until he's bucking up into the empty air. His fingers flex in her hair like they long to remove themselves and relocate to his lap—but he leaves them where they are, his other hand squeezing her waist pleadingly as she continues to tease him.

“Beth–,” he practically whines.

“I told you,” Beth says, stroking her other thumb across his throat. “ _Show me._ ”

With a gasp, Daryl does just that—his hand flies from her hair to crush almost painfully across her knuckles, using her hand to give himself the friction he needs. He groans into her mouth as he squeezes her fingers and his hips roll, showing her his hardness, proving his want.

Beth is starting to feel a little out of control herself—his flesh is warm enough that she feels it radiating through his underwear and jeans, and the thought of that hot dick in her hand, against her pussy, has her practically trembling.

“Get up here,” she says, giving his dick a firm tug towards the direction of the couch before ripping herself away.

Daryl opens his mouth to protest—and forgets to close it when her hands go to the hem of her shirt, flinging it off and across the room before reaching back to undo her bra. Her fingers are trembling enough that it isn't as easy as it usually is; by the time it's unhooked and down her arms Daryl's legs are up on the couch, his hands working frantically at his belt. Beth surges forward before he's finished, batting his hands away to do it herself, yanking at the leather and unzipping the fly and rubbing her palm once up and down his cotton-covered flesh before grabbing the whole mess and dragging it down, allowing his cock to pop free.

Daryl sighs in relief at the rush of air across his throbbing dick, and Beth feels him level his gaze on her as she stares at the quivering flesh between his legs.

“What're you waiting for?” he asks, voice impossibly low, impossibly rough, and when his hand closes around his dick it takes her breath away.

“I don't know what I wanna do,” Beth says, voice higher than she expects it to be, less confident, less adult; and it scares her a little just how hot her pussy gets when she flicks her wide eyes up to his and sees something new click into place inside him.

She doesn't even have time to gasp; one moment he's leaning back, fisting his dick, and the next his free hand has shot forward like lightning, tangling in her hair and yanking her down until she topples from her knees, landing with one hand planted on the couch and one on his stomach and close enough to his dick that she can _smell_ him.

She's also close enough that she feels the moment he begins to second guess himself—his stomach clenches and his fingers loosen in her hair and his hand slows down on his dick—but she doesn't give him time to do that either; just looks up at him and pushes hard into his hand, holding the pressure until his fingers tighten again.

“Beth, are you—“

“You aren't hurting me,” she says, sounding herself, sounding normal—and then whatever it was that passed over her before sweeps her up again and her voice leaps an octave, adds a tremble.

“I want it like this,” she says. “Please.”

Daryl is staring at her like he's never seen her before, mouth working in baffled confusion—but he maintains his grip on her hair. His hand tightens on his dick. And when she begins to pull away both fists clench and she gasps at the sharp pain that prickles her scalp.

He still seems uncertain, though, holding her in place instead of pulling her in or pushing her back, and in her frustration Beth remembers—remembers their first time together, how it felt to be naked and helpless between them, following Rick's whispered instructions as they learned how to please each other, please _her_ as they lay her back and ran their hands across her pliant body, pressing her down and looming so large as they took their turns inside her—and the desire to feel that helpless again surges within her with a ferocity like the sea.

“Please let me suck you,” she gasps, “Please let me suck you, Daryl, please, I'll do anything.”

All the breath leaves him in a rush as he stares into her pleading eyes, hand shaking where it digs into her scalp—and with a groan he throws his head back and drags her forward to bury her face in his groin.

He isn't paying particular attention to his aim, and instead of taking his dick into her mouth Beth finds herself smushed into the crease between his thigh and balls—but after a moment of adjustment it doesn't bother her, not one bit, and with a moan of her own she angles her head and presses a wet, sticky kiss to the skin behind his sac.

“Jesus,” Daryl groans as she continues her kisses up the crease of his thigh, rolling her head against him until she feels his pre-cum dripping into her hair, his knuckles bumping her head as they stroke his shaft. Beth brings a hand up and presses his dick to an angle against his stomach, putting pause to his fisting but allowing her to lick behind and up his balls to the base of his cock, sucking on one pulsing vein before baring her teeth and scraping them across him gently.

She gasps as her head is yanked up again,so fast her bare tits jiggle, and a wave of arousal slams into her pussy at the sight—Daryl arching back against the couch arm, on his way to utterly undone, staring at her like he still isn't quite sure what he's seeing.

He's beginning to know what she wants him to see, though; and as a glob of saliva dribbles from her open mouth to the swell of his balls, she sees the moment he makes his decision.

“C'mon then,” he says, using the hand around his cock to swing his dick towards her.

He misjudges the distance and instead of landing before her open mouth, his dick slaps loudly against her cheek, leaving a smear of pre-cum across her skin and a dull ache where her mouth caught against her teeth.

She doesn't reprimand him like he seems to expect, though, if his horrified eyes tell her anything—she moans, instead, a sudden, desperate keen approaching a whine as she pushes back against him. She stares him in the eyes as he slaps her again, and again, crying higher and higher with each one; and when he does it a third time a spurt of pre-cum bursts from his dick to splatter across her face, dripping into her eyelashes and towards her open mouth.

“Mother _fuck_ ,” Daryl gasps.

Beth couldn't agree more.

“Please,” she whispers again, and this time Daryl doesn't hesitate before angling his dick towards her mouth and pushing in past her lips.

She greets him with a throaty moan that she knows will echo in vibrations up his shaft, and indeed the next moment she finds herself stuffed full as his hips buck up uncontrollably, shoving his dick against the back of her throat and making her gag.

“Shit,” he gasps, “I'm sorry—“

“No,” Beth mumbles, shaking her head the best she can with her mouth still wrapped around him. Bracing a hand on his hip, she pulls back until it's just the head in her mouth. She pauses there to catch her breath, nostrils flaring and air puffing around him; once she gets herself under control, she drags her lips off of him, ending in a kiss to his slit, before breathing in deeply and flicking her eyes up to his and taking him in her mouth again.

She doesn't go deep enough to choke, but she still hits his knuckles where they're fisted around the base. The pressure on the back of her tongue isn't entirely pleasant—but she doesn't care. God, does she not care: His hand is still tangled in her hair, pulling on her scalp, beginning to tug her up and down a split second faster than her own motions, every spark of pain that goes through her shooting straight to her pounding clit. Soon, she's barely moving her head; he's doing it for her, trapping her between his dragging hand and his jumping hips, moving her up and down his shaft until rhythmic little huffs start to burst from her nostrils. Saliva and pre-cum pours down her chin and coats his knuckles as she struggles to support herself on shaky arms.

Daryl seems close to done, too; moments later he lets out a strangled gasp and yanks her off of himself, hunching over and clutching the base of his dick. Beth watches, mouth still open and raw, as his balls tremble with the effort it takes to suppress his climax.

With great heaving pants, Daryl slowly gets himself under control; finally, he's able to release his dick, leaving it to bob up and down, steel-hard and a fierce red and Beth would take it in her mouth again right then and there if Daryl's hand weren't still tangled in her hair.

He opens his eyes slowly. They take a moment to focus on her, and when they do, they widen; they sweep her form and she swears she sees his pupils expand even further.

“Jesus _shit_ ,” he says.

Beth imagines what he sees. She's crouched before him between his legs, bare tits brushing the rough fabric of the couch. Her hips, still encased in jeans, rise high above her arched spine; she knows this pair gapes in the back, and she suspects he can see flashes of the lace she bought just for this weekend. Her face is a mess—spit and pre-cum coating her cheeks, tears pooling her mascara beneath her eyes, lips red and glossy and swollen as they hang open. She gazes at him, his dick bobbing in her line of sight, his canines sharp.

“Turn around,” he says.

She doesn't even think of disobeying.

It takes her longer than it should, on her shaky limbs, but she manages it; folds her arms across the arm of the couch, tits once more brushing the fabric, trying to remain still as she hears Daryl moving around behind her—the shuffle of his pants falling to the floor, the crinkle as he draws a condom from his wallet.

She's so wound up that she gasps and jumps when she feels his hands against her stomach, reaching for the button of her jeans; his breath is hot on her spine as he drags the tight material down, pausing to gulp at the sight of her transparent lace panties.

“ _Beth._ ”

“Please Daryl,” she whispers.

He doesn't waste any more time, his hands shaking too in their urgency as he yanks her jeans and panties down and off before moving behind her, draping himself across her back and slotting his dick between her thighs to rub against her sopping slit.

“Oh god,” Beth gasps. “Tell me... tell me what you're gonna do, Daryl, please.”

Daryl's breath is hot and heavy between her shoulders as he thrusts a few times between her clenched thighs, his chest already sweaty enough to stick to her back.

“I'm... I'm gonna fuck you,” he mumbles.

“ _Tell me_.”

“I'm gonna fucking _fuck_ you,” he growls, arm curling around her hip so he can reach between her legs and situate himself so his shaft drags against her entire cunt, her lips folding around him as his head kisses her clit.

“Oh _god_ ,” Beth groans.

“Gonna fuck you,” Daryl gasps again, and as Beth's litany of “please please” begins in earnest he takes hold of his shaft and guides himself inside her.

For a moment Beth can only arch against him, mouth falling open in a silent scream as he stretches her wider, wider, wider than Rick and far wider than her fingers could hope to match, sinking in with agonizing slowness until her ass lies flush in the trough of his hips.

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” Daryl hisses.

“Fuck me fuck me _fuck me_!”

She's embarrassed for a moment by how frenzied she sounds—voice pitched in its highest register, scraping the top of her throat and the inside of her nose—but if it bothers Daryl, it doesn't show; because no sooner has the last syllable slid as a whine between her clenched teeth than he is drawing out of her and snapping back in, jerking her against the arm of the couch and punching another cry through her lips.

He does it again, and again, running his hands across her back and shoulders and circling around to cup her tits, tugging on the nipples until she sees stars—

—and then he's pulling out of her. She starts to turn her head, confused, then yelps as his hands close over her hips and yank her back. The sofa arm vanishes from beneath her and she collapses to the couch with a loud oof, and no sooner has she gotten her arms under her again than Daryl is lining himself up and pushing into her once more.

She instantly feels the appeal of this position—his balls slap against her clit with every thrust, and her ass in the air and cunt exposed leaves her feeling so vulnerable she's shaking with it. She struggles to keep her legs as straight as she can, keep herself presented to him, but she soon finds it's no use—he's too heavy, too strong pounding into her for her shaking thighs to hold, and soon she's sinking down with only his momentum to keep her up. One hand rests on her ass cheek and the other between her shoulders, keeping her down and giving him leverage, and when he releases her to brace one hand on the couch arm and one by her head and plunge into her in earnest she can barely breathe for the sounds spilling from her mouth, desperate gasps and pathetic whines as he fucks her like a bitch in heat.

Through her moans she slowly becomes aware of Daryl's own words, gasped against her neck.

“Fuck, jesus fucking christ girl, fucking shit, take it, take my cock, _god_ —“

“Oh my god I'm taking it, I'm taking, oh my god,” Beth gasps, one arm curled under her head and the other braced on the arm of the couch so she doesn't brain herself, using the leverage to shove back against him. It isn't like this, it's never been like this, it's been good it's been amazing but not this desperate not this loud not this _anguished_ in the way her body feels empty every time he pulls back and too full when he pushes in, like she's going to implode and burst in equal measure as he curls the arm by her head around her chest, clutching the opposite tit and using his weight to drive her into the couch.

She gives up on leverage, gives up on agency, falls limp beneath him as she twists her head to press her other cheek to the couch and looks out across the room to see Rick standing in the doorway, frozen in place, boxer briefs full to bursting.

“ _Daddy_ ,” Beth gasps.

At the look on his face Beth is coming, coming _hard_ , screeching into her arm and squeezing her eyes until tears burst from the corners and it doesn't _end,_ it keeps going as Daryl does and then he's really using his weight to keep her down, can barely contain her as she thrashes and cries beneath him.

It's almost a relief when he barks out a grunt and begins to gush inside her, hips punching into her several times before shaking, stuttering to a stop. He's gasping as he collapses on top of her, crushing her to the couch until she can't breath and begins to shove up at him with her elbow. He pulls away immediately, sliding from her with a pop as he falls back to collapse on his ass against the other arm, breathing heavily into the room silent except for their gasps.

It's a long time before Beth can force her eyes open; when she does it takes several moments for the blurs before her to resolve into solid shapes, and several more to recognize Rick still standing there.

And he's shaking. Shaking violently, like he's the one who's just been fucked, and she looks down at the deflating tent in his briefs and realizes that he's come untouched.

“Brother–“ Daryl says.

“No,” Rick says. While Daryl's voice is thick with breath, Rick's rings strong and clear in the room. “No,” he says again. “No.”

Beth feels Daryl's hand slide over her ankle as Rick turns and vanishes behind the bedroom door.

Beth stares at where her lover had stood, then rolls over onto her side, looking down her body at Daryl where he's already watching her.

“Shit,” he says. “ _Shit._ ”

All she can do is nod, and continue to shake as he pulls her up and into his arms.

Even if she _could_ form coherent words—there's really nothing else to say.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's wearing on Rick; these late nights, these lonely nights, when for four months he had barely gone an hour without seeing Beth and Daryl's face or hearing their voices. Rick never expected dodging his lovers to be easy; but he didn't think it would be so damn exhausting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a mention of _hypothetical_ incestuous pedophilia. There is NO actual incest or pedophilia in this story.

“Rick... Rick!”

Rick sits up with a start, blinking fiercely and grabbing for his gun.

“What is—“

“Rick.”

At that particular tone of voice—exasperated, disappointed, 100% done with him—Rick recognizes the lack of danger. At least physical danger. Who knows what his ex-wife is capable of.

“What is it?” he asks. Calm. Collected.

Lori is standing before him where he sits on the couch, Judith in her arms, an extremely skeptical look on her face. “Are you _sure_ you're ok to watch Judith today?” she asks. “I can call a babysitter–“

“No, no, I'm fine,” he says, readjusting himself so he's sitting up straighter. “Just needed a few minutes. I'm good now.”

“Ok.” She still looks unconvinced, but passes Judith into Rick's outstretched arms anyway. Rick settles Judith in his lap as Lori heads to the kitchen. “I thought they were giving you fewer night shifts,” she calls over her shoulder.

“They are,” Rick says, bouncing Judith as she begins to fuss. “Just haven't been sleeping well.”

“Do I know her?”

Rick freezes in his motions, looking wide eyed towards the kitchen.

“What do you mean?”

Lori comes back out, tipping a bottle back and forth in her hand, and Rick resumes his bouncing, a little more aggressively. She stands before Rick, hand on her hip.

“Come on, now. I wasn't born yesterday. Who's the girl?”

_Jesus fucking christ girl, fucking shit, take it, take my cock—_

“There's no girl,” Rick says.

“Uh huh.” Lori holds out the bottle, which Rick takes. “You know we've been divorced for a while. I don't mind you seeing other people.”

“Well, you know what, I'm not, so you wanna drop it?”

Lori raises her hands in surrender. “Fine. None of my business.” As she brings her hands down, she glances at her wrist, pulling a face. “Shoot, I have to go. Remember, Carl comes straight home from school—“

“And stays in the house, yeah, I got it.”

“Good.” Lori swoops down and for a moment Rick is enveloped in her scent—old, friendly, familiar, his first love, his first fuck, the mother of his children.

In those split moments before her lips come to rest on Judith's forehead, Rick has occasion to look at her; look at her closely. See the fine grains of her foundation, the lines at the corners of her eyes. He was supposed to be around to watch those lines lengthen. To know what she looks like without those grains on her nose. He's started to forget the image of her face without makeup and he left all the photo albums with her.

 _She is beautiful, though_ , he thinks as her lips settle on Judith's head, a whisper away from Rick's own mouth.

Things were bad between them at the end—so bad—but with the closeness of her, the familiar scent, for a moment he wishes he could take it all back. Be a family with her again. With Carl, with Judith. To live an uncomplicated life.

“Be good for Daddy,” Lori says.

She grabs her purse from the end table. Leans down to adjust her shoes. Checks her hair in the mirror by the door. Throws a glance at Rick, a, “see you later.” Swings the door shut and locks it from the outside.

Judith has to start crying to remind Rick about the bottle in his hand. He feeds her mechanically then puts her in her pen and watches infomercials until Carl comes home.

* * *

Rick almost doesn't trust himself driving away that night.

It was a good visit. A good one. He got more than five words out of Carl, which is something (Beth was right, in the end, about researching those comics he's so into; one word about them and he's off like a shot, no matter how much he still resents his father). Judith didn't cry much, only needed changing twice. Lori didn't offer to pay him for babysitting, like she did a few times before. She didn't come back smelling like another man's cologne, either.

He doubts he'll ever be over Lori, but until last weekend, it had been a long time since he's thought about her this much. Since he's missed what they used to have so fiercely. Since he wondered whether his life was taking a strange and dangerous path, being in this relationship.

Daryl was the one who'd needed convincing. Never formally. The three of them didn't sit down side by side and hash out the details, a schedule of who holds hands in public and how many fucks each of them are allotted before the favors grow unbalanced.

They've never worried about that. Daryl opened the door on a stormy night to Beth soaked through and crying on the doorstep. Rick found her in the morning on the couch, wrapped in Daryl's poncho. She kissed each of them on the cheek before she left, slow, one after the other, lips lingering until both men needed to duck behind the door as she waved goodbye. Days later Rick saw her coming out of the police station and offered her a ride and they ended up making out in the back seat like teenagers.

She _was_ a teenager, then. Has only just turned 20, several weeks ago. They took her to the nicest restaurant they could afford and brought her home and fucked her slow and sweet until her body sprawled like a rainfall across the bed.

Rick wants that. He wants her, in all her softness; satin smooth skin and cherry lips, blonde hair that flows between their fingers and leaves reminders of her on their pillows and in the drain. Her laugh like music, her music like gospel, the way she sings in the morning; how she'll rouse the two of them without meaning to because there's no meaning to her song, no reason—it bursts from her like a river though the hole in the dike, irrepressible, irreversible, the goddess of the sea calling down storms. How many times have he and Daryl rolled from their bed, padded naked or in shorts to the bedroom door and watched her in their kitchen: slim back dwarfed by one of their shirts, legs pale and long and lean, hair sleep and sex tossed and voice rising like an angel's as she makes pancakes or eggs or her mama's French toast? How many times has she turned from her task and smiled at them, chided them back into bed until she brings the food in one big dish for them to eat with their hands, eat from each other? How many times have they lain her back with kisses and sucks and made love to her until the sun shone high in the sky?

It's everything Rick could ever want, in his middle years. A girlfriend young and blonde and flexible and sweet as honey when he buries his head between her legs; not to mention the second lover that came along with the first—his roommate, his best friend, his brother—

And maybe that's how he should have known what his own thoughts would come to. That he can call Daryl brother as easily when ordering a pizza as he can watching Beth's head bob between his legs... it shows there's something wrong in him. Something broken. Something that shouldn't be allowed in the light of day.

For the longest time he didn't know. He thought those fantasies in his head were just that, fantasies—intrusive thoughts, he learned in Psych 101: _thoughts that_ _seem to come from outside of your control, their content alien and threatening_. Ideas that would stick around longer the more violently they were pushed away; imaginings that have no basis in intent, in reality.

And then the hairdresser called her his daughter. And he remembered his bachelor party, when Shane invited a group of co-eds to his apartment for a porn potluck. Each guest with their own DVD, their own desires. Rick sitting bored and irritated in the corner until a young woman in pigtails and a pink teddy came onscreen and called her paramour “Daddy.”

Rick jerked himself off in Shane's sink and drank so much he forgot the night for two decades.

But sitting in that brightly lit salon, surrounded by haircutters and patrons and his girlfriend of twenty years old—his girlfriend who hadn't been _born_ the night he flushed his spunk down Shane's drain—it slammed into him. The memory. The _heat_.

 _Be a good girl for Daddy, hmm? Take my cock down your whore bitch throat, swallow my seed like the cumslut you are. Drink my cum and my piss and_ like it _, you cunt, you worthless fucking hole._

It wasn't all of it that turned him on. But it was enough of it. It was enough.

And Beth looked at him with her wide blue eyes and her cupid mouth and Rick pictured her with cum in her hair and mascara a flood and the word “daddy” spilling like liquor from her lips.

And it frightened him. It terrified him, that he would want something like that for his girl.

(But wasn't she always somewhat of a daughter to him, like Daryl has always been something of a brother? Didn't he meet her in the direct aftermath of a trauma; didn't he provide paternal reassurance, a fatherly ear? He had all the authority and she had none and he gave her his address like he didn't think she was the most fuckable little thing on the goddamned planet)

And here he's spent the day with his daughter in his arms. His infant child, his _real_ little girl, who he feels nothing like this for; nothing beyond love and devotion and a need to care.

He feels that for Beth too. But it's more. Further. Darker. Something twisted and corrupt and all the more erotic for that.

And seeing Daryl hunched over her like that; not just fucking her, but _fucking her_ —pounding her into the couch like she _was_ some kind of worthless fuckhole, like he didn't care about her pain or her pleasure in the face of his own building ecstasy—

But Rick knows that isn't it. Because Beth arched back into him. Daryl cupped her in his palms to keep her from chafing against the couch. He kissed her neck and whispered love and she whispered right back.

(They have never used the word “love” among the three of them, not yet; it is too soon to declare something so monumental.

But that was the only word running through Rick's head as he watched Daryl rut against Beth on the sofa. Love, and care, and affection, and blinding rivulets of pleasure)

What she said—that was the least of it. Or if nothing else, the last. Because even if her lips had never formed the words, it was Rick who let himself get to that aroused state; who heard the sounds of fucking and didn't roll over and go back to sleep, but got up, drifted forward like they had tied a string to his dick that tugged him towards them with every snap of their hips; who saw the violence and abandon that lace his own dreams and didn't turn and run.

He stood in the door. He watched them—the thick rod of Daryl's manhood disappearing into Beth's body; their naked, sweat-laced skin gleaming beneath the overhead lights, slapping together in a chorus with the springs of the couch; Beth's face, her _face_ , like a frame from the porno all those years ago, covered in spit and pre-cum and blown open in ecstasy.

She liked it. She wanted it. She could want his form of punishment too.

* * *

Rick doesn't pay attention to the ticket he buys, nor to the movie; it is a means to an end, and that end is arriving home after Daryl has gone to sleep. He knows these actions are bordering on insanity; he'll have to run into Daryl at some point. They share an apartment, they share a  _bed_ —waking up wrapped around each other was not something Rick was willing to give up—but Rick will be damned if he doesn't put this off as long as possible.

It's wearing on him, though; these late nights, these _lonely_ nights, when for four months he had barely gone an hour without seeing Daryl's face or hearing his voice. Rick never expected dodging his roommate and lover to be easy; but he didn't think it would be so damn _exhausting_.

But Daryl has an early shift tomorrow, which means he's probably going for the sleeping pills instead of waiting through insomnia. By the time Rick gets back it should be no problem to slip silently into bed beside him.

He thinks this right up until he opens the front door and Daryl rises from the couch to greet him.

They spend almost a minute just staring at each other; and after the initial spike of dread and horror and the urge to run, Rick feels how much he _misses_ him—him, and Beth too, and all they had been building until Rick's perversion went and fucked it all up.

He thinks he sees something similar in Daryl's eyes. He knows he does.

Daryl sticks his hands in his front pockets, nods his head. Looks at Rick through his scraggly bangs.

“Hey,” he says.

And Rick wants to kiss him. Stride across the room and slam him against the wall and kiss him until he's breathless. Because he's broad and strong and sweet and kind and his hands aren't the only things making bulges in his jeans.

Rick holds himself together (if only just) and manages to close the front door with a mostly steady hand.

“Hey,” he says back. “Thought you'd be asleep.”

“Called off work,” Daryl says. The longer Rick looks at him, the more he feels there's something _odd_ in his expression. Something Rick isn't used to seeing there. Like discomfort, some form of unease perhaps...

He shuffles his feet, bites his lip. Avoids Rick's gaze. He's blinking too fast and when he pulls his hands from his pockets they're shining with sweat.

Furtive. He looks furtive. Like he has something to hide.

Rick feels his cop instincts prickle to life.

“You feeling alright?” Rick asks, hanging his coat on the hook by the door.

“Yeah,” Daryl says. “Wanted to talk to you.”

That gives Rick pause. He's never known Daryl to go out of his way for the sake of a _conversation_. Usually the opposite, in fact.

On a normal night, their positions would be precisely switched.

But this is not a normal night, and Rick decides to remain standing for this.

“What about?” he asks, leaning against the wall by the door. Daryl mirrors him on the arm of the couch.

“Friday,” Daryl says.

Rick swallows, struggles to keep his face impassive. “Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you mean?”

Daryl looks so exasperated that Rick has to turn away.

“Avoiding us ain't gonna work,” Daryl says, trailing Rick to the kitchen, his voice sounding more confident. “You told me that at the beginning of this, didn't you?”

“Maybe I'm not so great at taking my own advice,” Rick mutters, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer with a shaky hand.

“You're really gonna punish Beth like this?”

Rick pauses in twisting the cap off the bottle, meeting Daryl's eyes with raised eyebrows.

“I'm not punishing her.”

“Could'a fooled me,” Daryl says, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. Rick spends a few moments captivated by the flexing muscles before he averts his gaze again. “Taking your fucking daddy issues out on her ain't cool, man,” Daryl says as Rick finally pops the top, taking a deep swig. “She can't help that she's young—“

“And you're ok with all this, then?” Rick interjects, setting his beer on the counter with a loud _clink_. “People thinking you're, you're the _father_ of someone you're fucking? You're ok with that?”

“Yeah,” Daryl says simply. Rick scoffs, picking up his beer again. “Cause we _ain't_ her dads, alright?” Daryl takes a step closer, ignoring Rick's narrowed eyes. “And don't gimme bullshit about you having kids when I don't, it don't make no difference.”

“You think it doesn't?” Rick asks incredulously. “Beth is _six years_ older than Carl–“

“You wanna fuck Carl then?”

Rick staggers, gasping.

“What the hell–“

“That's what you're saying, ain't it? She's a kid so you wanna fuck all the kids?”

“She isn't a kid,” Rick spits.

“Ain't what I'm hearing,” Daryl says. He takes another step towards Rick and they're practically chest to chest now. “None of this bothered you when you talked me into this fucking thing. What the fuck changed?”

“I didn't–“ Rick swallows, distracted by Daryl's proximity as much as by his question. “I didn't think about it. But now, I...”

Daryl stares at him, eyes level and calm.

“Now you can't stop thinking about it.”

“Yeah.” Rick swallows again and takes more gulps of beer, ignoring the burning in his throat as he forces it down. “When I saw you two–“

“It's what you've been thinking about, ain't it?” Daryl says. Rick's eyes widen. He's slipping into a growl Rick's only heard him use in the bedroom. “Holding her down, fucking her rough. Pretending she _is_ your kid. Gettin' off on it.” Daryl steps in again, caging Rick against the counter with those ridiculous arms. “You _want_ her to call you Daddy, huh? Want her to call _me_ Daddy?”

“Please stop,” Rick whispers.

“You fucking want it, Grimes,” Daryl growls, pressing forward until Rick can feel his cock, hot and rough beneath his jeans. And by the smirk on his face, Rick knows Daryl can feel his. “You want it so bad you came in your fucking _pants_ when she said it.”

Rick is shaking as Daryl presses close, searches his face—then suddenly backs off. He doesn't go anywhere—he's touching Rick everywhere he was before—but he suddenly feels smaller, less threatening.

When he reaches down to cup Rick's dick, his hold is almost soothing.

“Ain't wrong to want it, Rick,” Daryl says, stroking him slowly, leaning into his shudder. “It's what you said to me, first time we did it. Ain't nothing different here.”

“She doesn't know what she's asking for—“

Daryl _squeezes_ , hard enough to hurt, hard enough to make Rick cringe back against the counter and his balls throb.

“That _is_ wrong,” Daryl says. “You think that, you really _are_ fucking a little kid. Got it?”

Daryl waits for Rick's jerky nod before relaxing his grip, turning it into a caress again. He leans in close, pressing a hot kiss beneath Rick's ear. Rick's head drops back, a moan falling from his lips as Daryl rolls his palm against him.

“Daryl–“

“Feel that, Officer?” Daryl rumbles, grinding his own dick into Rick's hip while he continues to work Rick's cock. “Imagine that were her, touchin' you like that. Dolled up all nice n' pretty for you. Those fucking lips in your ear, begging her Daddy to fuck her.”

“Oh God,” Rick gasps.

“Got your dick hard pretty fast, huh?” Daryl says, pushing his cocky grin against Rick's cheek. “You wanna fuck her like that? You want her to call you Daddy? You wanna spank her baby ass?”

The sound that comes out of Rick's mouth is almost a sob as his forehead drops to Daryl's shoulder, his hand finding Daryl's still braced on the counter.

“Gotta answer me, Rick,” Daryl growls, scraping his scruff across Rick's cheek as Rick throbs, close, so close already and Daryl hasn't even gotten his pants open. “Wanna fuck your little girl?”

“Yes,” Rick whispers.

Daryl squeezes his dick, making him whimper.

“Louder.”

“Yes.”

Daryl slams into him, grinding Rick's ass into the counter until he cries out.

“Fuckin' _tell_ me.”

“Yes!” Rick chokes, stomach clenching, on the edge of climax–

And Daryl releases him. Daryl steps away. Daryl smirks as Rick stares at him, mouth gaping, cock and balls in fucking _pain_.

“What are you–?”

“Come on, then,” Daryl says.

He walks away without another word.

Rick stares after him, gulping in air as he begs his cock to relax inside his constricting jeans. He's practically collapsed against the counter, and it takes him a few tries to get his legs to support his weight. He exits the kitchen in time to see Daryl vanish into their bedroom.

He follows him numbly, without thought, and comes to the doorway and freezes.

Daryl is there, standing to the side of the bed, waiting for him.

But that's not where Rick's eyes fly.

Her hair is in pigtails, high on the sides of her head so they arch away from her skull like waterfalls. Her hair is long enough that the tips just brush her delicate shoulders, bare but for the thin straps of her camisole. It is white, and nearly translucent, and through it he can see everything: her cute belly button and the tight spirals of her nipples, thrusting through the fabric like mountains from a plain. She's sitting on the bed, one knee crossed over the other, hands clasped tightly in her lap. She's painted her nails pink, he sees, a delicate rose to match the flush of her cheeks under wide-open eyes. Her thighs are clenched tight under an ass-length plaid skirt. On her feet are white knee-socks, decorated with small pink bows. Her natural blush is augmented by a powder that shimmers against her skin.

She looks at him. Her lips part. Her voice, when it comes, is in a tremor so nervous that it nearly brings Rick to his knees.

“Hi, Daddy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really interested in what people have to say about this! Please remember to review!


End file.
